


Bedroom Interlude

by RussianWitch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Do not copy off site, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley in bed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Bedroom Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

“This—this is rather improper isn’t it?” Aziraphale asks examining the silk ties holding his arms to the headboard. He wiggles on the bright blue sheets and Crowley feels  _ hunger _ the kind he hasn’t felt in centuries, not since he’d been crawling around terrorizing the Garden’s mouse population. 

“Depends on who you ask?” He answers innocently distracted by milky thighs and pale pink cock curving up from their apex with a nice big pair of bullocks below it. “We’re in private after all, doing what consenting humans do on a regular basis, with great enthusiasm.” 

“Well, that’s humans!” Aziraphale objects somewhat insincerely.

It amuses Crowley that after 6000 years, after defying both heaven and hell the angel’s knee jerk reaction is to deny just how  _ human  _ both of them have become. 

Free will, after all, isn’t a celestial being’s prerogative.

Instead of pointing out the error in the angel’s thinking, Crowley smothers his amusement in Aziraphale’s soft belly. 

His skin is silky, undamaged by either elements or time, eternally flawless. The fat underneath is an affectation, one that Crowley has found he likes; tangible proof of the angel’s vices.

Possibly, he should have brought chocolate sauce instead of the scarves.

Crowley is almost certain Aziraphale can be convinced to lick the sticky concoction off his skin.

“I want to make you feel good,” Crowley purrs kneeling between soft thighs, digging his fingers into yielding flesh, filling his hands overfull.

Aziraphale moans, trembling under Crowley’s hands but arches into the touch. 

“Does this feel good, angel?” the demon demands bending down to suck bruises on sensitive skin.

It takes Aziraphale a while to answer.

He doesn’t indulge in sensation often, Crowley knows, outside of food, that is.

The wet, warm touch of Crowley’s tongue tip makes the angel pant and squirm, but still not pull away as Crowley works his way up to the fold of thigh and torso to nuzzle at the blond curls until he’s nuzzling at the base of the angel’s prick.

Crowley can feel it throb against his cheek, warm and rosy with blood.

The thought of filling his mouth with it leaves him feeling funny and with a mild urge to bite down. He huffs and flicks his tongue along the length, wraps it around the girth of it the split ends tickling just under the head of the—“Why are you circumcised anyway?” he wonders running the edge of his nail along a prominent vein, making Aziraphale squirm, giggle and jiggle in interesting ways. 

“It seemed neater,” the angel admits once he manages to catch his breath again.

Crowley hums, making a mental note to introduce the angel to the joys of foreskins another time and swallows him down to the root earning himself a squeal.

Sometimes, Crowley wonders what it would be like to have a gag reflex; to have to fight to take a cock down his throat.

He huffs around the flesh filling his mouth as pubic hair tickles his nose, holding still as a statue.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale moans tugging at his bonds in an attempt to sit up, “oh, please!” His hips try to thrust up, but Crowley happily pins them using some of his demonic strength to leave marks where his fingers dig in.

Aziraphale didn’t always allow marks and Crowley has never managed to come up with a more magnificent sight than the angel disheveled and covered with Crowley’s fingerprints.

Crowley swallows around the girth again and again until Aziraphale runs out of breath and subsides into quiet whimpers. The cock in his mouth throbs to the rhythm of the angel’s simulated heartbeats.

“Crowley, please my dear man!” The angel moans, arching—the bond holding him breaking, disappearing, a minor miracle happening before Crowley’s eyes and Aziraphale’s fingers dig into Crowley’s hair.

Aziraphale was a warrior once, Crowley has never forgotten but sometimes wonders if the angel has. All the strength of the divinity ordained warrior pulls Crowley forward, holds him in place when he tries to pull away counting himself lucky he doesn’t really need to breathe.

The angel’s heels dig into Crowley’s shoulder blades and he’s on his back Aziraphale’s weight settling on top of him, soft thighs boxing him in, soft belly blinding him as Aziraphale’s cock ravages his throat.

Crowley runs his hands over soft flesh, rakes his fingers over fragile skin and slaps at meaty buttocks in encouragement. Feels the body pinning him down shaking and jiggling, hips pistoning in search of pleasure.

“Crowley!” The angel growls, his control breaking, divine light scoring Crowley’s skin, his own cock unbearably hard twitching against his belly.

Divinity spills down his throat, hot and sharp, renting him apart even as Crowley strips his cock to completion his release, stripping Aziraphale’s back.

If Crowley was human, he surely would have choked, Aziraphale’s cock doesn’t soften or withdraw as the angel gathers his composure. 

The weight of him presses Crowley into the bed, smothers him delightfully, his mortal body protesting the lack of oxygen as the rest of it delights in the possession.

“Oh, dear!” The angel gasps as an agonized sound escapes Crowley’s throat, removing himself from Crowley’s throat. “My dear friend—,” he drops clumsily on Crowley’s side, squeaking when Crowley rolls on top of him biting his way up to the angel’s throat.

“We’ll make a demon of you yet,” he hisses, thrusting his harm between their bodies, down between the angel’s legs to find his asshole.

Aziraphale looks like he’s about to protest, Crowley’s words more than his actions most likely the demon knows, forestalling words by thrusting two fingers into the tender opening.

The angel lets out a high pitched scream as Crowley opens him up, spreads Aziraphale wide on his fingers before pushing his cock into the barely stretched hole.

“Angel!” He cries setting a punishing rhythm.

Aziraphale’s legs rise around him, his ankles crossing in the small of Crowley’s back digging in next to his spine every time Crowley pulls out.

“Mine!” He growls against the angel’s throat fighting the urge to bite down and scald himself again.

“Mine!” The angel echoes, his fingers turning to claws on Crowley’s back, his body tightening around Crowley’s cock.

In ancient times, they could have merged into one, tasted each other’s thoughts, each other’s very beings as they mated.

Trapped in flesh, it is no longer possible but doesn’t keep them from trying.

Their bodies tangled in a knot, they ride their hormones to release again and again, their mouths locked in a rough kiss.

Only when their bodies start to break down do they stop.

Aziraphale squirms as his body cools and he becomes aware of the sticky, soaked through sheets.

Crowley watches him with a cigarette hanging off his lip. 

He doesn’t quite know why that particular human habit is something he returns to over and over again, but it always seems fitting after a proper shag.

Snapping his fingers turns the bed fresh again before Aziraphale can find an excuse to get up and the angel settles with a sigh, snagging the bottle of red they’d left on the bedside table. 


End file.
